


SEE ME

by internetname



Series: SPEAK ME [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He woke up in the nothing room, which was fine. Buffy had no doubt awoken when they were asleep (Thank God again dreams didn’t have to make sense.), and he could go into her next dream when he was ready." Spike and Buffy figure out how much they can get out of Spike's reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SEE ME

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in a series of stories, have no idea how many. Maybe one more. I dunno. (BTW, Angel’s story line with Spike does not exist in my world. And don't even talk to me about those comics.)

He woke up in the nothing room, which was fine. Buffy had no doubt awoken when they were asleep (Thank God again dreams didn’t have to make sense.), and he could go into her next dream when he was ready.

For now, he sat up, leaning against the wall, missing his Slayer in a vague way, but wanting a smoke and a bit of a think before he plunged himself into her next scenario. Fighting those demons by her side hadn’t taken nearly as much out of him as returning to that church, and he doubted she was going right back to their big white bed. (More’s the pity.)

So he lit up and leaned his weight back against the blankness that made up his time when he wasn’t dreaming with Buffy. The smoke burnt his lungs while the nicotine danced through his blood and along his nerves. It was all good stuff even when he was feeling less than great.

And right now he was feeling bloody chuffed, if he were going to be honest about it. He was still wrapping his head around the idea that he’d tried to do something with Buffy that didn’t end in travesty (his) and tears (hers). Of course, it was doubtlessly all due to his somehow having earned his own little plot of real estate in heaven. Someone was also watching out for his girl, he’d bet.

He had to make sure he didn’t muck up her reward. One day, a very long time from now, she’d die of natural causes surrounded by loved ones, and then she’d go back to the place she’d told him about, where she was warm and safe and done.

And he’d still be seeing her, right? The thought occurred to him with a soul-deep stab of joy he’d never admit to sodding anyone under pain of torture. (And he knew what was involved there, unlike a lot of bloody tossers who threw those sorts of words around.)

When Buffy went to Slayer Heaven, she could still probably come down and visit him, if she wanted, in her dreams. Heaven had to allow dreaming, he figured, when the dreams were nice, especially considering hell dimensions were all about nightmares. She could curl up on his sofa in front of the TV and tell him about her day beyond the Pearly Gates: feeling loved, feeling warm, feeling safe, feeling loved.

The whole thing was enough to make him giddy, but not careless. There was always a chance he’d botch this thing up proper, and then despite everything he wouldn’t see her anymore. Flicking away the butt burnt up to the filter, he closed his eyes and made sure everything he’d dreamt with her so far was as imprinted on his memory as clearly and deeply as it could go.

Which got him thinking about something she’d said.

So when he found himself walking toward the back of 630 Revello Drive, he knew she’d be sitting by herself on the back porch. It was a shame about her house, really. Seemed like it should somehow have survived the hellmouth. It wasn’t just the first “home” he’d gotten used to since he had been turned; it had held the Summers women, three incredible souls. Seemed like it should have gotten a pass, like when some house in Hawaii would be saved by a slight rise in the ground from the molten lava that had laid everything to waste all around it. And there’s all this gray, cooling lava, and this fragile little thing still standing.

Of course, it was Buffy’s home, so it wasn’t fragile. Think of all the demons she’d fought in there that couldn’t destroy it, for all the whelp kept having to put the windows back up.

He was rounding the hedge to get into the backyard when it hit him that her being on the porch might not be a good thing. Sure, it was where they had met up quite a few times, but that was because she’d go outside to be miserable, and Spike thought of the way he would show up because she’d said she could be alone with him and him being too piss-ignorant to realize that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

But no, it was all right. She looked happy and peaceful sitting there at the top of the stairs, and he smiled back as he came up and sat at her side.

“No shotgun this time,” she said, and it damn near sounded like a fond memory.

“Just the loose cannon,” he agreed and couldn’t help laughing. She joined in a bit.

The stars were a bit brighter and merrier than they’d ever managed in Sunnydale, but otherwise it all seemed pretty much as he remembered. Which is when he remembered the other thing.

“Pet?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know about the bugs crawling in my head? I know there’s stuff about bugs written down somewhere about the ritual to get souls, but not that part.”

“Oh.” She smiled, and it was night but the porch light was bright and she was lit up inside and outside, and it was just a good thing he didn’t have to breathe for a bit.

A man was suddenly standing in the garden. He looked to be in his sixties, but Spike could tell from the hair and eyes and smile he’d been a real lady killer (non-vamp variety) in his time. It was ridiculous that even in his dream Spike feel his demon give a possessive growl. Besides, the look he was giving Buffy was paternal and professorial, and he was wearing a wedding ring it looked like he took good care of.

“This is Daniel Michaels,” she said. “Giles’ friend.”

The man was just standing there, like a hologram his Slayer had pulled from her pocket. The dream-vampire nodded at her, glad she didn’t seem to expect him to interact with it. After a while, the image went away.

“He a watcher?”

“No, but I think he might have been studying to be one at some point when Giles was in school. He’s more into archeology and stuff like that, but Willow said he was a strong Wicca, for a guy.” She smiled, obviously feeling indulgent about her friend. “Anyway, he told me about the details of what you went through.”

“And how did he know, exactly?”

“He did a spell.”

Spike felt something odd in his gut. It was, maybe, annoyance? “And just why did he do this spell, pet?”

“I wanted to know.” She looked at him full-on suddenly, her eyes a little hard. “And I knew you would never tell me.”

“I did tell you!”

“‘I went to see a man about a girl’ isn’t exactly giving me details.” She put up a hand when he went to protest. “And neither telling me there were trials and pain and suffering—and then of course distracting me from all the details by talking about me instead.”

Spike shrugged, reaching for his pack. It had worked at the time.

“Yes, it did work,” she said, skewering him a bit with a sharp look. “And I knew you’d never give me more information about it.”

“It was kind of private, Slayer. What, did you get your new friend to give you a bloody transcript for the new watcher files?”

“Giles took a few notes.”

“The watcher was there?” Spike flung himself off the top step to stomp his way across the grass, stopped, turned, and then just took up pacing. “Bloody hell! What are you doing to me, Slayer? That was a trial for my soul, literally! You think for one second maybe I didn’t want the whole world hearing the play-by-play of that garbage?”

“Garbage?” Buffy was standing herself now, still on the porch, looming over him. “Fighting a man with fire hands? Drinking poisoned blood until there was just skin over your bones? Ripping the two separate heads off a grotchkon demon while it tried to eat you? Burning half your skin off in the sunrise?”

“I really don’t need the highlight reel, luv.”

“Dawn started crying when—”

“You let _Dawn_ hear all that crap?!”

“None of us had a clue it was going to be that bad! Daniel just went into a trance and—”

“None of us who?”

She blinked at him, and he steadfastly ignored that her eyes were wet. “What?”

‘“None of us’ as in who was there in the room, Slayer?”

Buffy’s chin went up. “Just our friends. Just our family.”

“Oh, now I know you’ve completely lost the plot.”

She opened her mouth in anger, closed it in confusion, then opened it again. “I’m not sure what that means, but if you’re saying they’re not your friends—”

“Of course they’re not my friends!” He fumbled for a new smoke, telling himself it would be pointless to leave. He’d just have to continue the conversation in the next dream, because God knew the Slayer was a dog with a bone.

“They tolerated me because I was useful. Harris probably asked for video to go along with the narration. My God, I bet Nikki’s boy just fell to the floor laughing—”

“Robin wasn’t there.”

Well, that was something, Spike thought as he turned from her, closed his eyes, and inhaled a little fiery relief.

“Neither was Faith or Andrew or any of the new slayers. I said it was only family: Giles, Xander, Willow, Dawn, and me.”

“And the Great Windbag, evidently.”

“Well, Willow couldn’t do the spell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned to look at her then, still angry, but not wanting not to look at her. “That’d be a pretty basic spell for her now, considering.”

“She tried, but it upset her too much.”

He was still puzzling that out when she walked down the steps to join him on the grass. The wind blew her loose blond hair around, and he noticed she was wearing that white sweater with the collar under a black leather coat. Annoying number of layers.

“I told you,” she said. “It was just family.”

“I don’t—”

“Her spell broke when she saw the first images and started crying. We had to get Daniel to do it to get any details.”

“But soddin’ _why_ , Slayer? I told you the important bits. Why did you lot care about the rest?”

“Because I was trying to convince them I wasn’t going insane!”

Well, he just stared at that for a while, then silently shrugged at her to continue.

“I wake up in the motel room, and I’m waiting until everyone’s dressed, and I think I’m being all Sane Buffy, and then suddenly I’m telling Giles you’re living an eternal afterlife in my dreams. You think that went over well?”

“I didn’t think you were going to tell anyone about any of this, pet.”

“The man I love turns out not to be burned into nothing under a hellmouth, and you think I was going to keep that to myself? And stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked innocently, lit up inside with her easy statement about him being the man she loved.

“That expression gets naked Spike and Buffy.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“And this is having-a-talk Spike and Buffy.”

“We could talk while we’re naked.” He reached for her, burning a bit right now, and then frowned when she pulled out of reach.

Seeing his expression, she made a sort of motion with her hands he thought was supposed to be placating. “Spike, of course we will, but in a minute. Look, two days ago you die in the hellmouth, and the next morning I’m trying to convince everyone I didn’t have some wish-inspired dream.”

“Two days?”

She frowned. “Yeah.”

“Buffy, what..?” He shook his head, calculating. “You’ve had several dreams now. Dreams with me, I mean.”

“So?”

“So, calculating the dreams you’re not having with me, shouldn’t that be more like a few weeks?”

A look came over Buffy’s face then that Spike didn’t like at all. It was guilt, obviously, and general uneasiness, and then a little defiance, though not at him.

“Slayer,” he growled, suddenly also more interested in talking than in being naked—well, mostly. “Just what has been going on in the waking world?”

“I told you,” she says, though both of them know she was just stalling. “We’re at Daniel’s place near Phoenix. I’m on the sofa, and most of the girls are three to a room, but they’re all OK. Like I said, it’s a big place.”

“You got up the morning after our first dream and told the watcher about me.”

“And Xander, and Willow, and Dawn.”

“What, did you take them all out to Denny’s for breakfast?”

“IHOP.”

“They still doing those crepes with the strawberries the bit likes?”

“Yeah. She had some. And then, after I explained about the book, Giles took us to the library, and I found it.”

“But that wasn’t enough to make them think you weren’t barmey?”

“No. Giles said I must have read it before and was just using it to fool myself, which even I could tell was pretty lame, and so then I told them about how determined you can be when you want, and that led to talking about when you got your soul.”

“Which led to my private life being the day’s entertainment.”

Buffy scowled. “There was nothing entertaining about it. Xander almost puked, Dawn, Willow, and I cried, and Giles just sat there looking guilty. And that’s what I needed.”

“For the love of God, Slayer, why? They already knew I was stubborn.”

“It goes beyond being stubborn. I had to make them see, don’t you understand?”

“No, quite frankly, pet. I don’t.”  He flicked his fag away and instantly wanted another one.

“I had to make them see that you’re—that you’re not just some vampire who happens to have a soul and just stumbled into saving the world! I had to make them understand how incredible you are! How if anyone could come back from the hellmouth it would be you!”

Embarrassed, chuffed, and ready to stake himself with discomfort, Spike took up pacing again. Maybe it would be a good idea to end this dream for a minute, regroup by himself in the nothing room.

He shook it off and turned to her. “Luv, I’m still not getting why you had to tell them about me in the first place. I set it up so right by you. You get to be the Slayer in the daytime, and then at night, when you feel like it…”  He gave her a little jut of his hips and half-smile. She opened her mouth with the obvious (because she loved him!) objection, and he hurried on, “And for other things! We can talk, we can go on dates. I’m thinking you will really love some of the ideas for little outings I’ve been toying with. We can talk about your life, and maybe I can help with stuff. I’m here, really here, Buffy. It’s just that we have limited visiting hours.”

“OK, and say we had some great talk and you had great advice. What was I supposed to say to my friends?”

“I don’t need soddin’ credit, Slayer.”

“Why can’t you get this?” Buffy turned from him then, while he tried to figure out what the problem was. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled into her hands. “I did this. I made you like this.”

“What?”

She turned, and that look she got that he hated, the one that meant she was beating herself up about something, was shining at him in the blend of yellow porch and silver moonlight. “You were my dirty secret. I made you keep yourself separate from my life, a secret to people you’d known for years. Even at my birthday party, even when we were fighting side by side, I made sure you knew every second you couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t let anyone know I’d let you in. And even worse, I didn’t let you in, not really.”

“All right, enough with the self-flagellation, luv. That was years ago, anyway.”

“It feels like forever ago,” she said, smiling in love and regret so great that Spike was totally forgetting what they were arguing about.

“Then let it go. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

She frowned then, stepping forward. “That’s just my point. I need you to let it go. Let go of being my, uh, bit of rough on the side.”

He laughed. “Your what?”

“You’re not my secret lover, Spike,” she said, hands going to her hips. “You’re the love I want to keep forever, if I can.”

OK, that was officially enough talking. He walked toward her, about to suggest dreaming up a room at the Ritz, when she raised her hand.

“In a minute.” Her eyes flashed, and his pants got tighter. “I realize I’m incredibly lucky to have you back in my life in any way I can, but I’m greedy, all right? I want as much of you as I can get.”

“Buffy, all I have left in the world is yours. You know that.”

She kissed him then, and it was all sort of warm and perfect, but when he reached for more, she pulled back. He hands dropped to his sides. He was never holding on when she didn’t want it again.

But then she frowned, reached down, and put his hands back on her hips with a smile.

“I just want to see how much I can get from what you’ve given me,” she said. “I want you in my waking life as much as possible, and that means that my friends and family have to know about you. I won’t keep myself from mentioning ever you again.”

Spike spent more time swallowing than he meant to and had to clear his throat just a bit before he could ask, “So. You told them about the book and gave them the brief on my soul smack down. Did they believe you then?”

She shrugged, looking at his neck, then a little shyly up to his face and down to his neck again. His pants were definitely too tight now, which a bloke couldn’t be blamed for. He’d never had a bird like this, let alone the Slayer, let alone Buffy. He could tell she wanted him and was starting to really feel that she loved him. What a concept. What an idea applied to a…whatever he was. He knew if he reached over now and kissed her she’d just go for it. No, more than that. She was holding herself back, actually standing there wanting him, trusting him to let her finish before they got to better things.

He realized for all that he’d had in this world for a century and a half, he’d never had a woman love him and want him and want to reach for him just for himself.

He had to clear his head a bit for he could hear that she was saying.

“They sort of believe me, I think,” she said. “Mostly they’ve gotten to that ‘I believe you believe it’ stage.”

He shuddered.

“Right.”

Spike let his hands run over the skin of her arms, and he leaned in close to absorb the smell of her. “I think, maybe I could tell the watcher something you wouldn’t know, not about me, you know. Something you couldn’t know.”

Buffy hummed and nibbled his chin.

“Luv, uh. He should ask.”

Buffy nodded, kissed his neck, and reached for the hem of his shirt. Then she looked at him.

“What?”

He looked at her a moment, then pulled the thought back to his mouth. “You should ask him something about me in the waking world, something you wouldn’t think to ask, then I’ll tell you and you can tell him. Then he can’t think it was something you read before.”

“OK.” She frowned. “Now?”

“No, pet, not—what do you mean now?”

“Well, they’re waiting, but then, they can wait a while longer.” She pressed up against him a bit, which was lovely, but didn’t stop him from realizing what she was saying.

“You mean they’re watching you sleep?”

Buffy seemed to realize something and stepped back a bit, and while he felt chilled with the loss, he was a little too distracted to pay attention. Much.

“Uh, yes?”

“They’re standing around watching you sleep while you’re here with me?” Spike felt distinctly uncomfortable, though his demon scorned him for caring.

She nodded, and then her expression turned ever so slightly mischievous.

“Slayer!”

She giggled, then shook her head. “All right, all right.”

And then she was gone, and he was in the nothing room, and then he was in a tastefully decorated living room out of a Santa Fe decorating ad, with high white walls, a tall fireplace, whitewashed wooden ceiling, and Native American-patterned furniture. Buffy was standing next to a sofa that had blankets and sheets piled on one end, and she was wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt a size too big. Her feet were bare.

“Daniel’s place?” he asked.

She nodded.

“What’s the wanker’s question?”

“Who’s Miss Edith?”

Spike stared at her. “That’s his question? He could have asked about the Order of Aurelius, about vampires’ weaknesses, about almost two centuries’ knowledge of demon lore, and he asks you about Dru’s soddin’ doll?”

She crossed her arms over the shirt. He could almost make out a circle of arrows on it. Must belong to that Daniel wanker.

“Miss Edith is a doll?”

“Her favorite. Used to give her visions. Or so she said.”

She nodded. “Dru. Doll. Visions.”

“That’s right.”

Buffy nodded, then suddenly looked at him. “You’ll be here?”

“What?”

“When I come back. You’ll be here.”

“Wouldn’t be anyplace else, luv.”

She nodded again, and then to his horror her eyes filled with tears again and her gilded head bowed.

“Buffy?”

“I used you.”

Spike forced himself through the moment of emotional whiplash. “Yeah, whatever. We talked about that.”

“No.” Her voice was small, but clear. “Before, when we were dealing with the First, when you held me those nights and asked for nothing, I was still using you.”

“Slayer, no.” He reached out, gently tipping up her chin, meeting her green jade gaze with his clear eyes. “I gave you strength, and you gave me…you cared about me.”

“I more than cared,” she admitted in a whisper. “But I couldn’t look at it then. I couldn’t think about it then.”

“We were being heroes. We were saving the world. I helped you save the world.”

She nodded, and those damned tears went down her cheeks. “I needed what you were giving me so much, but I couldn’t give you anything back.”

“You gave me more back than anyone ever has!”

“But I loved you,” she said, and there was that self-blame look again he’d pretty much take on hell itself to destroy. “And I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t let myself think about how much I loved you because I had to be the one in command.”

“More than enough of an excuse, Slayer.”

“I didn’t want to be the Slayer! I didn’t want to be The One.”

“I remember. No need to stir that up again.”

“I wanted to crawl inside you and never come out.”

“All right, yeah. Don’t remember that part.”

“Because I didn’t tell you!” She was shining now in her grief, and only because he knew she wouldn’t like it did he stay off his knees. Someday, maybe, she’d let him kneel to her the way he wanted. She wouldn’t kneel back, didn’t even know the bloody ritual in the first place, but that wasn’t the point. He forced himself to pay attention to everything she was saying, words or not.

“You offered me more love than anyone has a dream of,” she said next, which didn’t make much sense, considering, but he nodded. “And I wanted just to give in to it, just to enjoy it, just to be loved and love you back. But the First…”

“The world was damn near about to end, Slayer. I know that. You knew that.”

“Yes, and then, after about three hours of riding on that bus, after it was over, realizing what I’d had to give up—” She looked at him, suddenly guilty.

“What?” He waited a tick, and nothing. “What happened, Buffy?”

Her eyes slid away. “I don’t really remember. I was so happy about the potentials. So happy we’d won. And then.” She took a breath, not letting fear stop her, ever, his Slayer. “And then I realized I’d lost you. I’d paid the price of you, and at first it seemed noble and fitting. And then…”

He gave her a lot of moments before he urged, “Then?”

“Then I thought about how I could have a normal life. About how I would no longer be Slayer, comma, The. And then I thought about my friendships, my family, and then I thought about how I could have a normal relationship.”

He winced. “Yeah, look, about that. Sure you—”

“And I thought about how normal relationships are nothing!”

He stared at her, seeing fire.

“The closest I had to a normal relationship wasn’t nearly good enough, and that was before you!” She actually turned away then, staring at the unlit fireplace. Nice flagstone. “And I realized I would never have that again, never have anyone love me the way you did again. And sure, it was creepy sometimes, and then a little psychotic, but then you got your soul.”

She looked at him then, and he felt numb with the force of it.

“A master vampire went and got his soul to be a better man for me. He followed me. He gave me strength. He loved me.”

Spike didn’t mean to interrupt, but the past tense just killed him.

“Love, pet.”

“And I realized I would never have that again, ever! That the best I could hope for after that was a few flowers and maybe a nice dinner, and to think I actually wanted that once! I had had the best love the world could offer right there.” She reached out, touching him. “In my hand. And I realized how much I loved you back, and that I would never have you again.”

“I’m here, Slayer.”

“But you weren’t! I think, I must have gone a little crazy on that bus. I know I scared Dawn.  And then everyone was staring at me, and Giles gave me something to drink.”

She stared into some bleak vision that twisted his heart. And then she looked at him, smiling, and he honestly didn’t know what to think, and only felt that he was hers, whatever she was going on about.

“And then I dreamed of you,” she said, smiling just a little, then a lot. “And I wasn’t a monster anymore.”

That he recognized was his cue. He swept her up in his arms, holding her as close as he could without crushing bone, most likely his. “Never a monster, Slayer. We had a mission. You think I don’t know that? We had a mission, and I was part of it. I wanted to be there for you, to be something you could throw at that soddin’ specter that used me.”

He pulled back, making her meet his eyes. “We were united in purpose, and that was just part of how I loved you. Nothing else mattered as much. Not the First. Not Angel. Not how much I wanted you. Nothing. We saved the bloody world together.”

“And then I was alone again,” she whispered, broken and breaking him. “You left me alone.”

“I will never not be with you,” he told her. “Don’t you know you’re in my skin, my soul, my demon? I’m at odds with myself every day, Buffy, but everything I am wants anything you are.”

She fumbled with his belt then, and his jeans, and then they were on the sofa and he was inside. She wasn’t all that wet, so he took care, more concerned about being with her than driving her to something, for all that he felt her heat.

“It’s selfish,” she said, gasping.

“I want you selfish.”

“You gave me so much.”

“It was already yours. I was just…Oh, God. Don’t you feel it, Slayer?”

“But I’d lost it. And I didn’t care that I used you up to save the world. I wanted you back for myself.”

“Maybe.” He shoved the words out, thrusting now and pretty much gone, but the idea came and wouldn’t leave. “If you say so. I don’t think I could have gotten this reward if you didn’t go along with it.”

She threw her head back, still looking at him, and she was light and strength and power surrounding him like a blanket of sunlight.

And for quite a while, even in the dream, they just were.

 

**THE WITCH**

Willow had really, really hoped that the days following the collapse of the hellmouth would offer some sort of rest. They’d certainly earned it.

But there was no getting around the fact that the battle had taken its price. First, they’d lost a lot of new slayers, and before that they’d lost a lot of potentials they only now had time to grieve for. Second, most of the survivors were wounded, both physically and emotionally. Third, Sunnydale was gone. Fourth, Willow knew she had triumphed over the darkest part of herself to reach the place of white magic, and that was really great, but she was tired down to her marrow. Fifth, in the aftermath of battle, Willow knew she wasn’t the only one thinking about what she could have done better.

And sixth was Buffy.

Her friend had been happy, looking out over the crater that had been a Southern California suburb. But then she’d grown quiet, pensive, and then downright withdrawn when they had all piled into the motel room. And then she’d cried until Giles had given her something.

Which wasn’t too unexpected, she supposed, considering the weight of the world on her friend’s shoulders. And then the next morning Buffy was up, happy, almost manic, talking about how Spike was in her dreams. Willow was more than inclined to believe her, frankly. After all they’d faced, she was supposed to balk at Spike being in her dreams?

For the past couple years, Spike had been solely something of Buffy’s domain, which, considering what Willow had been going through, made sense enough. There had been Tara, and then the rather bad period there after Tara. And then Buffy was asking her to redo a spell thousands of years old, which she had done.

But Spike? The vampire had terrorized her, then personally threatened her, then tried to bite her that night and couldn’t. And somehow Willow had found herself sympathetic, which made no sense at all.

She knew Spike loved Buffy. She’d been with him that awful summer. And going to get your soul wasn’t something you did for a crush. But her friend had kept Spike away from them for so long, her personal adventure, personal arsenal. They’d just stayed out of it, she and Xander. She’d heard about Giles and Robin Wood and their trying to kill Spike, and personally she thought that was a really bad idea, but who had asked her? What had her opinion on it mattered then?

Really, it was impossible, trying to make sense of those last few weeks. Everyone involved knew they were facing something they’d never faced before, which was really something, when you stopped to think about it. This wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill apocalypse, and how about that for stupid? That the regular end of the world now seemed about as remarkable as a final exam when the real end came?

Spike in those last days had been there for Buffy, and when he’d been the one to close the hellmouth, Buffy had been proven right that he was the champion, the one who’d been more than worth the trouble of saving from the First, of forgiving when he’d been killing people because of the trigger—not to mention the century-plus of killed-dead people before that. So while she’d admired his sacrifice, all Spike had really meant to Willow before then had been filed under Territory, comma, Buffy’s.

Which should have meant the current circumstances were par for the course, which was some sort of golf metaphor, which was fine, even though she didn’t play golf. Except it wasn’t.

Buffy had warned her that her presence in their dreams would have some sort of influence, but Willow was still surprised to find herself standing inside the Magic Box, everything on the shelves ready to go for whatever she and Tara…

No. There was no Tara here. No Anya. The place was an old friend, but it was empty.

Except for Buffy, who was sitting at one of the round tables, and Spike, who was sitting on a counter and smoking a cigarette.

“Willow!” her friend said, coming to her feet with a smile.

“Buffy,” she said. “Spike.”

“Red,” the vampire said, and she could see how uncomfortable he was, which actually made her feel better, which maybe wasn’t a good thing, but she didn’t know.

“Spike,” she said again, though she wasn’t sure what she was really talking to. That was the whole point, right? She was here to see if this Spike in Buffy’s dreams were really Spike, as in the vampire they had in the basement, the guy who’d burned himself alive to close the hellmouth. This person for Buffy who had come back when Tara hadn’t been—

Willow stopped herself there, and cruelly. Spike’s dream-resurrection had absolutely nothing to do with Tara. Tara had been killed by a man with a gun, and Willow had taken all the revenge she was entitled to for that and much, much more. Spike had…

Had what, exactly? But that was what she was here to figure out.

She looked him over. He looked like, well, Spike. There was the bleached hair slicked back, the black nails, the black coat, the red shirt over the black shirt, the black jeans, the boots, the scar over his…

“Hey,” she said. “How’d you get that scar, anyway?”

He looked at her, and while she felt a slight need to pee, she just held it as well as his gaze.

“First slayer,” he said.

“Huh?”

Buffy explained from the table, “He means the first one he fought, during the Boxer Rebellion.”

“Oh.” Willow stood there. Did that mean he was Spike? How was she supposed to know? “Uh.”

“This is pointless,” Spike growled softly.

“Spike.”

“Honestly, Buffy!” He turned from them and looked at a jar of desiccated bat wings, his shoulders drawn up and his hands clenched. “How’s Red supposed to help anyone figure out if this is really me or some projection of yours? The last time she and I actually had a conversation, she was being nice because I couldn’t bite her.”

“How did that end?” Willow asked, knowing her voice was a little high.

Spike turned to her, frowning. “You hit me over the head with a lamp.”

“Ha!” Willow nodded, pointing with the hands she had clasped together. “That’s right. I never told Buffy that.”

“Well, there you go then. Run back and tell the others it’s really me.”

She frowned back at him. “It’s not that simple. If this is a spell—”

“Of course it’s a spell!” Spike caught himself. “I mean, I guess that’s what you call it. Magic, or something. Seems kinda weak, though.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked, for which Willow was grateful. It really was like watching two people talk, not like someone talking to a projection of their own desires, which was Giles’ leading theory, heavily endorsed by Xander.

“Well.” Spike shrugged. “Magic and spells are little things, seems to me, compared to this.”

“Hey!” Willow objected.

“Now, now. I’m not saying you’re not powerful as all get out, but this…” He waved at himself, the Magic Box, Buffy. “This is more like a major intervention, you know? It’s reality, not something magic propping up.”

“Reality? You’re literally living in a dream world!”

“Well, yeah.” He looked at her like she was stupid, which she totally wasn’t. “And that’s my reality now.”

Willow opened her mouth and then shut it again. Buffy had explained to them over that breakfast at IHOP about how this was Spike’s reward for saving the world and about how he couldn’t wish himself alive again because he needed to wish for a thing, and somehow being in a dream was a thing and being alive again wasn’t.

“Speaking of which,” the vampire was saying, “I have some questions.”

“For me?” She looked over at Buffy, who shrugged.

“Spike’s pointed out I invaded his privacy already. Answer if you want to.”

“Ta, luv.”

Willow couldn’t tell if Spike meant that sincerely or sarcastically. But then, understanding Spike had never been her thing. But when he looked at her now, arms hugging his body, he seemed as real to her as he ever had.

“How many days now since Sunnydale went meteor crater?”

“Three.”

“And Buffy’s been dreaming of me every night?”

“Yeah, and, well, afternoons.”

He frowned, but she could tell it wasn’t an aggressive move. He seemed mostly concerned. “What do you mean, afternoons?”

“She’s been taking a nap every day to go talk to you.”

“A nap? With all you lot got going on?”

“Exactly! So you see why we’re worried about her.”

“Worried.” He shot a hard look at Buffy. “You didn’t tell me they were worried about you, pet.”

“Everyone’s been sleeping a lot,” she said. “Faith practically hasn’t gotten out of bed at all.”

“Because Nikki’s boy’s in there with her, I’d bet.”

Willow giggled, but those intimidating blue eyes looked back at her, putting an end to that.

“It’s not just that she’s sleeping as much as she can,” she explained. “She just doesn’t seem to care about what’s going on. We need to make plans, regroup, and all she does is stare at us and then go back to bed.”

“I agreed we should go to Daniel’s place!”

“Which was a total no-brainer, duh.” Willow drew back on her irritation. She was here to help, not to get in Buffy’s face. “We have about forty slayers now, and half of them still need medical help.”

“Slayer healing not up to snuff?” Spike asked.

Willow shrugged. “We’re not sure. None of the girls really seems as powerful as Buffy and Faith, but we don’t know if that’s actually their power or just experience. Besides, Buffy’s always holding on to that scythe, and that pretty much doubles everything she does.”

“Interesting security blanket, pet.”

“Several of the girls were pretty near death by the time we got there, and some others who have shown up were wounded badly by the Bringers. We’ve basically got a whole ward of them, and Buffy is supposed to make the rounds, you know, give them pep talks.”

“I’m tired of speeches,” Buffy said.

“You’re tired of everything that isn’t sleeping and dreaming about Spike!”

“All right,” Spike said in a no-nonsense voice Willow didn’t think she’d ever heard from him before. “This isn’t going to do, Slayer.”

“It’s just been three days,” Buffy whined, which was also a tone Willow wasn’t used to.

“Three damn important days! You’re meant to be regrouping your army, and that’s when regrouping happens: right after the battle, won or lost.” Leaving Willow, Spike walked over to the table and sat with her, taking one of her hands in his so very gently Willow found herself thinking of Tara. “They need you as much as ever, luv, and if they figure I’m the one keeping you from them, they’ll find a way to get rid of me.”

“They will not,” Buffy said in yet another tone Willow hadn’t heard before.

“We wouldn’t!” she protested, not backing down with both of them turned to her. “We’re trying to help. That’s all.”

“The last time you tried to help me…” Spike started, then shook his head. “No, that’s not true. The last time you helped you gave the slayers their power. That was damn impressive.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Which makes me all the more concerned you’re going to muck about in my heavenly reward.” He stood up and paced, lighting up a cigarette without really seeming to notice. “I thought long and hard about what I said, and it’s been working well. I’ll not have you ruining it.” He shot a look at Buffy. “Which is why I didn’t want Red to come visiting in the first place. I’m supposed to be your dream, Slayer, not anyone else’s.”

“I told you why we need her to come see you for herself.”

“And I’m not disagreeing.” He looked at Willow now, inhaling smoke. “I just don’t like it.”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” Willow said, lifting her chin.

“I trust you, Red. I’m just bloody terrified of you.”

Willow boggled.

“You did a spell shook the foundations of the whole shebang, or didn’t you notice? You’ve got more power in you than I thought witches got to have, and one little ‘hokus poke-the-Spikus’ from you and I’m not even a memory.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

But you could.” Spike flicked his barely smoked cigarette away and looked at her squarely and with, to her surprise, a bit of respect. “Power, responsibility, all that, right, Red? No matter how well you mean, your being here means my forever-after’s hanging by a thread.”

Startling them both, she reached out and held Spike’s leather-clad forearm. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to Buffy, and not to you.”

He sent her a look then that, for the first time, made her think she could maybe see what Buffy saw in him. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t know if you noticed, but you saved us all back there. And you were working so hard to help before that. I wouldn’t do anything to ruin things for you.”

“Even if you think I’m bad for Buffy?”

“It’s not my choice,” Willow said, realizing she’d come to a decision. “Besides, I don’t think you’re bad for her at all.” She nodded to her friend when Buffy smiled at her from her seat at the table. “I just think, you know, this is a lot of stuff, and we’ve been through so much. Seems to me you guys just need to work things out with the waking world, and maybe I can help.”

“Will,” both of them warned.

“Not with magic, just, you know, with being there.” She looked at Spike. “It will help her just knowing there’s someone who understands, I think. Someone on the other side that gets it.”

The vampire just looked at her for a long minute, then smiled almost shyly. It was actually kind of cute.

Buffy walked over and stood at Spike’s side. They always had looked good together, really. Even when they’d been trying to kill each other, it wasn’t like you could miss the sexual tension.

“Yes, thank you, Willow.”

“I’m the thank-you girl! And I guess I should—”

“What? You’re going to leave now?” Spike asked while Buffy shook her head and smiled. “When all you’ve seen is this old shop that doesn’t even exist anymore?”

“Well, I…”

Spike clapped his hands together and rubbed them in excitement. “I’ll not have that. No one’s gonna say I’m that bad a host.”

Buffy laughed. “We can go anywhere you like, Will.”

But the vampire shook his head. “No, no. I’ve got just the place in mind. I’ve been thinking about it.”

Buffy frowned. “When?”

“When I was in the nothing room.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “It’s a sort of, I dunno, holding area, waiting room. Between dreams. Lets me catch my breath. I got thinking, and I think I know how this can work.”

Buffy smiled again, and Willow found herself getting a little excited. What kind of a Wicca didn’t know about the power of dreams?

He looked at them both seriously, though his eyes were sparkling, a little. “I’m going to think about a place, and you both just think that you want to be there with me, all right? Now, don’t fight it when you feel things start to shift.”

“OK,” Willow said, anxious but reassured by Buffy’s nod.

The lines and colors of the Magic Box blurred, and for a beat everything was sort of gray, and then…

Willow gasped, totally unable to decide where to look first. The grand ballroom seemed as big as a basketball arena, with walls and ceilings covered in gold leaf shimmering to what must have been thousands of candles. It was warm, but she knew some of the large windows must be open to the night air because the heavy silk of the white drapes was moving along with the flickering lights.

And everywhere there were people dressed in the richest of clothing and dancing to a half-familiar waltz coming from a small orchestra along one gilded wall. Ladies with full skirts and tiny waists, men with cut-away coats and stockings and lace ruffles down their chests and at their wrists. There were hats and headpieces and powdered wigs, and Willow breathed in perfumes and talc.

There were round tables along the wall in the distance filled with foods and a high fountain that she thought was spurting champagne. And everyone was smiling and laughing as though there were not a care to be found in the wide world.

“Why does this look kinda familiar?” Buffy asked while Willow took in the sight of her in yards of blue silk, swirling skirts, elaborate hair, and sparkling jewels.

“They try to do it in the movies, sometimes,” Spike said, himself resplendent in black velvet festooned with elaborate flog closures and one of those wigs that should have made in him look silly but instead sat on his head quite naturally. After all, the color was pretty much what she was used to, though not the curls. “Ball at the Winter Palace, Saint Petersburg, the last great shindig before it all came crumbling down.”

“These don’t look like Victorian clothes,” Willow said absently, more interested right that second in her own red and black gown and sparkling diamonds than in history. She must be wearing fifty pounds of cloth, but it all felt light and breezy. She chalked her comfort up to being in a dream, especially when she realized she was all squeezed into a corset that, wow, her breasts looked so full and perky.

“Costumes parties are always a crowd-pleaser,” Spike said, drawing out a snuff box and going through an elaborate ritual of snorting it up his nose that had Buffy giggling behind a painted fan. “They picked seventeenth-century gear, for whatever reason. Probably some political statement. Want to meet the Imperial family?”

“I would prefer a dance first, kind sir,” Buffy simpered with a curtsy, eyes dancing all by themselves.

Spike gave a little bow and took her outstretched hand, but leaned over to Willow to ask, “See that lady in the green brocade?”

Willow nodded. Wow. She looked a little like Scarlet O’Hara. Kennedy would be so jealous.

“Lady Orlando. Notorious in the inner circle for preferrin’ birds, bit of a suffragette, too. Go ask her about the rise of the proletariat.”

And then the two of them swept away in a twirl, leaving a nervous Willow behind, until she realized she was in a damn dream, for Gaia’s sake, and went to ask a certain emerald vision if she would like some champagne.

 

Some dream-hours later, Spike and Buffy felt the moment Willow popped back to the waking world. Watching his lady laugh, the vampire swirled her around with a little extra power, just missing the doddering Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, half-propped up by some painted tart who looked like she’d rather be bathing a goat. Although, the old fart was about two years from being blown up in Senatskaya Square, if Spike remembered correctly, so he wished him well with his bit of goods and concentrated on the woman in his own arms.

“Tell her I said goodbye and hoped she enjoyed the party, kitten,” he called over the music and now rather inebriated chatter.

“I will! How long did this party last, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Three days. When we come back, I’ll take you night sledding.”

“Why wait?” she asked, still sparkling (and a little sweaty, which if he thought about it would go right to his breeches), but letting a little of that pouty lip through.

“Because Will’s returned to the waking world, and it’s time this little Slayer went after her.”

Buffy was obviously about to argue when the song came to an end. Spike bowed and led her from the floor to an open window, just close enough to catch some of the icy breeze and the smell of snow.

“But we haven’t even…” Buffy tried wiggling her eyebrows, which looked both ridiculous and adorable.

“And we will next dream.”

“Next dream?” She was doing the full-on pout now, and the urge to catch that lip between his fangs damn near floored him.

“Do you have any idea how long it would take to get out of these clothes? And we’d need servants for the tricky bits.”

She leaned up toward him, décolletage heaving just a bit. “We could just think about a certain bed and being naked.”

“God, Slayer. You’re killing me,” he groaned, but then held up a finger. “No. Red’s got concerns, and you staying here isn’t going to help anything. You get on back to your friends.”

Oh God. More pouting.

“And no going to bed early, either. You spend your day like you’re supposed to, being there for everyone.” He let his smile, the one he’d been battling for about five minutes now, come out and play on his lips. “And then I’ll be there for you tonight.”

“You’re right,” she muttered, looking so disappointed his heart broke a bit.

Gently, he took her hand and kissed it, smelling Slayer sweat and angling his body a bit so he didn’t show something to the whole ballroom that would have half the people there faint dead away. (He figured the musicians and servants would be fine.)

She gave him a little smile behind her fan, then disappeared. On his own, the vampire turned to look at the fancy dress ball, remembering when he’d been here with Dru, dancing and drinking and seducing and feasting. Those really had been the days.

Crazy, really, that the dream was even better. Must have been the company he was keeping.

Back in the nowhere room, Spike found he could actually do something that felt like sleeping. It was definitely one of those things he didn’t want to worry too much about, a dream paradox that would give him a chip-sized migraine if he really wanted.

The point was that he felt himself shut down for a bit and then came back feeling rested. It was funny he got tired, considering that as a dream person he didn’t get hungry. But then, there was a mental component to the whole thing, wasn’t there? Looks like his noggin got tired with all the dream-thinking.

With that, he sat up, more than a little pleased with himself over the little party he’d conjured up. Of course, if either the Slayer or the witch had really had to dance wearing those togs, they’d have fainted dead away, not to mention all the champagne and vodka they’d been knocking back.

For a bit, he had a smoke and considered ideas for the next scenario, when it would be his turn. He and Buffy hadn’t talked about it, but it seemed right they’d switch off. 

Flicking away his butt, he took to his feet, bounced his knees a couple times, then walked into…

 

**THE WATCHER**

Willow and Buffy had told him about dreaming of the Magic Box earlier, so he’d mostly expected to see his old establishment. Instead, they were in the living room of Buffy’s house on Revello Drive. The front windows had been boarded up, he noticed, and there was no electricity. The candlelight struck him as rather gloomy, and he smelled something recently burnt from the kitchen.

“Really need to stretch the old imagination, luv,” a familiar voice said behind him, and he turned with quick indignation.

But Spike was evidently talking to Buffy, who was standing there in the same outfit she’d gone to sleep in: gray sweats and another of Daniel’s t-shirts. Giles noted he himself was wearing a tweed suit.

“I mean,” the vampire was saying, eyeing Buffy with open lust with his hands hooked into his belt and ignoring Giles completely, “I realize we all get homesick, but you might at least have popped us into your room.”

“Spike,” Buffy said somewhat urgently.

“’Course…” Spike sidled up to her with one eyebrow cocked, to say nothing of the way he was holding his hips. “Maybe you’d like to invite me up, eh? We never did the deed in your—”

“Spike!” she said, much louder. “We have to talk.”

“Yes,” Giles said, reaching to clean his glasses and then stopping himself, a brief routine in which he frequently engaged when William the Bloody was around. “It’s time you and I—”

“Quiet, window dressing,” Spike growled at him, eyes still glittering at Buffy.

“Spike, no.”

“No what, Slayer?”

Oh dear. That thing Spike was doing with his tongue was quite frankly obscene.

“No, he’s not window dressing.”

Spike finally looked at him, frowning.

“Hello, Spike,” he said.

“Watcher?” Spike looked back at Buffy. “You brought your watcher here?”

Buffy shot her vampire an apologetic look Giles didn’t think was particularly necessary. “After Willow and I told everyone about everything, he asked to come.”

Spike stood up straight, rolling his shoulders and giving Giles what the watcher had often heard referred to as the “harry eyeball.”

“Could have warned me, pet.”

“I’m afraid that’s my doing. I asked to come straight away.”

“Because?”

“It’s clear from Willow’s report that your dream reality with Buffy is virtually another life. It was obvious to me that we had all underestimated your attraction.”

“You ready to confess something, Rupert?”

“I mean the attraction of this world.” He gestured around them. “I really had no idea.”

Spike shrugged, his eyes wandering back to Buffy, who was standing there quietly, letting them talk but obviously ready to speak up when she wanted to.

“I can hear the sounds of life out the windows,” he said. “Traffic, and there was a dog barking a moment ago. I can smell the candles burning, and the lingering olfactory presence of a few dozen teenaged girls. If I didn’t have cause to know from other factors that this is a dream, I would swear it was reality.”

The vampire smiled then, as if he were delighted. “Quite nice, eh?”

“And thus it is quite clear to me that your ‘reward’ makes you a greater danger to Buffy than ever.”

Both turned to boggle at him, but it was Spike who spoke first: “Wha? Bloody hell, Watcher! Are you ever going to see me as anything but the Big Bad?” He spun off to pace, and Giles couldn’t help wondering (not for the first time) how often he’d practiced that move to get his coat to whirl out like that. “I save the soddin’ world. I protect the Slayer and the Niblet with my life and limb. I saved you from Angelus!”

“The alternative reality you offer is far too appealing, considering the burdens of the reality we currently—”

“Oh, stuff it, Watcher!”

“Giles,” Buffy said, cutting them both off. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

Spike snorted.

“Treating me like a child,” she told him. “Acting like I can’t be trusted to deal with things, even obvious things, like you have to protect me from the world for my own good.”

Giles opened his mouth while she continued, “I’m not the little girl I was when we met, and I thought you had learned to trust me!”

“I do trust you!”

“Not when it comes to Spike, you don’t! May I remind you that if you and Wood had managed to kill Spike the hellmouth would now be open? We’d have been slaughtered, slayer strength or not. There were thousands of those things. Thousands. And Spike was the one to close the hellmouth.”

“Got that right,” Spike growled, nevertheless looking pleased while he seemed to be distracted by Buffy’s hair.

“I recognized Spike for what none of the rest of you could see: the strongest weapon against the First we had. That’s why the First wanted him so badly, came after him so much. I knew he needed to stand with us.”

“And he did his part admirably,” Giles admitted, giving the surprised-looking vampire a nod. “And now that battle is finished.”

She raised her up-turned hands in a shrug. “So what? Like, that’s the last battle we’re going to face? Just give it a few months. Something horrible will come along to try to kill us all again. You know that.”

“I can’t say I see what use Spike can be in his current state.”

“I’m not here for your use, Watcher,” Spike sneered.

“Buffy, you must see that your attention cannot be divided like this.”

“My attention?” She closed her eyes, looking suddenly weary, and Spike reacted as though he’d been shoved by unseen hands, walking to her side and taking her into his arms in a manner that Giles had to confess was somewhat touching, if completely incongruous.

“Was my attention split when I had to protect the world and my sister at the same time? Was my attention split when the council decided to see if I could kill a psycho vampire without my powers? Was my attention split when I had potentials coming out from behind every tree while my friends decided they’d rather follow a slayer who used to kill people for fun?”

Deep shame sliced through his gut, and he dropped his gaze to the well-worn carpet of a lost home. Even now, he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done, the way he had believed that she simply needed time to herself to calm down and she would see that he was right.

And it had been Spike, damn him, who had told him the truth—that he wasn’t ready to see her as a leader, that he wasn’t ready to give up his fatherly influence over her. That he had been too scared for her well-being to pay attention to what she actually needed.

“I know that my time as your protector, however small that always was, is over now,” he told the carpet. “But I have little else to offer you now that you—”

“Bollocks!” Spike snarled, startling him into looking up.

“The problem with you watchers is that you have almost no experience dealing with slayers who don’t conveniently die before they’re old enough to have a real say in their own lives!” Spike walked away from Buffy to stand right in front of him, close enough that he could smell leather and cigarettes. “She may not need your protection, but how about a little faith here? How about a show of that caring lark you’re always on about? How about being proud of her?”

“I am fiercely proud of Buffy!”

“Yeah? And just how many times does she have to save your ass before that pride turns into some bleedin’ respect?”

It took about five seconds before Giles realized he was just standing there with his mouth open.  Finally, he managed to get out, “I do respect her. I’m just concerned.”

“Well, your concern reads like thinking she’s an idiot, where I’m standing.”

“Guys,” Buffy said, coming to stand beside Spike.

“I know, Slayer,” Spike said, then sighed, his body language dialing down by eleven. “You don’t need me fighting your battles either.”

Buffy reached up and gently turned his bleached head to her, looking into his eyes. “Do you really think it doesn’t make me happy to hear someone speak up for me when they know me so well?” She gave a breathy laugh that was somewhat like a snort. “That’s always been your superpower, you know. Knowing us all a little too well.”

She looked at him then, and he was struck anew by the maturity of her eyes. “Giles, I know you want to protect me, but can’t you see that making me weak is the worst danger there is?”

“Making you weak?”

She took one of the vampire’s hands in her own, holding it like something cherished, while the rest of the creature seemed to melt a bit. “Did you ever wonder what let me get the scythe from Caleb’s vineyard?”

“You said you moved too quickly for him to attack you, and then you pulled the weapon from the stone.”

“Yes, but you saw me when I left that night. I was…defeated.”

Giles heard himself make a sound of distress.

“I had nothing left but myself, and I was trying, but it just wasn’t good enough. And I was lying there in some house, in some bed, and Spike found me.”

He frowned over this bit of news. It made sense, he supposed. He knew Spike had gone looking for her.

“And he gave me his strength that night. It was because of him that I had the first good night’s sleep in I seriously cannot remember how long.” She smiled at the memory, looking like a confident slayer before the battle, like the woman who had led her soldiers down into the hellmouth. “And when I woke up, I was ready to do my job.”

“Hey, pumpkin,” Spike murmured, and it was obvious he’d forgotten anyone besides Buffy was there as he pulled her into a kiss that went on long enough that Giles just decided to go ahead and clean his glasses after all.

Then a rather blurry Buffy demanded, “Where is it written that a slayer can’t have someone who loves her? Someone she loves back?”

“Oh, good lord.”

“That’s right, Watcher,” Spike said, and when his glasses were back on that smirk was present in all too much detail. “She loves me back now, and you lot can go—”

“You don’t mean that, Spike,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes. Spike, oh dear, actually pouted. “I know you care about them all, a great deal.”

“Care about them ‘cause you do,” came the muttered response, which Buffy ignored.

“I get what you’re worried about, Giles. OK? I do. You need me to do my job, and I will. But I’m not letting anything take Spike away from me. Do you understand? He talks about this like it’s his reward, but I think it’s mine too, and both of us have earned it. We’re going to be here for each other, and I’m going to take all the strength he gives me every time I’m with him to take on the next edition of the apocalypse.”

The vampire was positively beaming now, his chin resting on her shoulder, but Giles realized he was allowing himself to be distracted. Was he really trying to deny Buffy something just because he didn’t want Spike to have it?

“I realize right now I’m distracted,” she was saying, and he refocused his attention. “But it’s just days since we changed the world, and I’ve just found out I’m never going to be alone again, ever. Excuse me if my head is officially turned.”

Spike’s breathing actually hitched, which was odd. He didn’t need to breathe at all, did he?

“Just let me go through this, all right?” she said. “Let me get used to this. Even without Spike I’d need some time to get my head together. What are any of us really doing right now but trying to figure out what we’re going to do next? Is it really such a slayer sin that I want to get in a little extra sleep?”

“Buffy, I…” But he didn’t have anything to say yet; nothing came to him.

“And you can help me,” she went on. “Help me find my balance. If I’m thinking too much about how I want to be in dreamland, you can say something, right? You can help me figure out how I’m going to live this two-part life I’m going to have now.”

“Of course I’ll help in any way I can,” he said, which was a simple truth that he’d had from the beginning, back when she was still a round-faced girl who thought if she complained long enough she might not have to be the Chosen One. And when she smiled now in relief, he saw that little girl again.

It was a problem he would always have to deal with, he realized: his desire to keep her safe when he should be providing her with a reliable resource. And if Spike were a resource as well, would it be in anyone’s interest to take that away from her? He looked at the vampire whose eyes looked drunk with happiness. Was there no end to the world’s oddity?

“Well, if you really want to be helpful, Watcher, you can watch some telly or something.” Spike leered quite disconcertingly.

Buffy laughed, clearly glad to let the intensity of the moment pass.

“Telly?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Spike turned a bit and then hoisted Buffy up into his arms. With a giggle, she held onto him, sending Giles a fond look of farewell. “I’m off to defile my Slayer’s girlhood retreat!”

Spike stomped up the stairs as he turned away (not at all to hide any sort of reluctant chuckle) and found himself looking at the front door. Curious, and not particularly willing to listen to the thumping from upstairs, he opened it and walked out into a most pleasant night. The stars were unusually bright and pretty, and he decided to see how far he could walk before the world and duty woke him up.

 

It was one of William the Bloody’s best-kept secrets. Midnight, after all, was supposed to be the time for marauding and feasting and all that. But sometimes a fellow just wanted a night in, a little “me time,” especially when Dru was off singing to the sky and didn’t want company, or playing with her dolls and didn’t want company, or just plain didn’t want company.

In fact, with the help of reruns, he hadn’t missed a single episode, not even during the really god-awful years after the first group all quit and absolutely nothing the replacement wankers did was funny. Even though he enjoyed thinking about New York, he’d almost given up on this show, and this was from a creature who used to watch hideous nineteenth-century melodramas like _The Octoroon_ and actually get choked up. (‘Course, that was back when he was still alive. Ponce.)

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d seen the musical skit that popped into his noggin as he carried the Slayer over the threshold of her bedroom, but he certainly felt it below the waist, everything losing more than a little enthusiasm as he spied her pile of stuffed animals and the sheep-printed robe hanging off the mirror. He was a veal man, sure, but this was embryonic. There were, thank God, no actual posters of New Kids on the Block, but he saw the photo of her during her Dorothy Hamill stage, and, oh God, was that a Ballerina Barbie over there?

 _Let’s do it in my twin bed,_  
_Even though Aunt Ruth's dead_  
_Wish we had more room_  
_But Grandma got the guest room_  
_But we'll still get nasty  
_ _Up against my trophies_

Letting the Slayer down with a thump, Spike stared in open horror at a soddin’ Lite Brite sporting a lopsided pink flower.

“This isn’t my room,” Buffy was saying, looking around. “I mean, it’s not the way I left it. I certainly never had my _Western Experience to 1715_ textbook shoved into my Mademoiselle Dollhouse. It’s some sort of amalgam.”

Spike couldn’t help looking at her, and her puzzled eyes went slightly defensive.

“What? I know big words.”

“Sorry, pet,” he muttered, his attention caught now by the window behind her. Slowly, he walked up to it, then looked out to see a familiar tree, its roots littered with cigarette butts. With a painful laugh, he shook his head.

“What?” She was standing beside him now, looking down. “Oh, your tree.”

“The hours I stood standing under that thing, looking up at this window.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and let his forehead press against the cool glass. “I tried not to go there, not to stand there like some ghoulish stalker, but my feet just kept leading me back here, and then they wouldn’t leave.”

Her warm arms went around him, but he didn’t let himself relax into it.

“Bloody hell, looking back on it, I can see now what a creepin’ knob I was. I was everything you accused me of being.”

“Spike.”

“No, Slayer. I need to tell you this.” He forced his eyes open, looking at the tree below and almost seeing his pathetic wannabe self looking back. “I thought at the time it was romantic.” He laughed at it, guts twisting. “Me down there, pining away. I thought—I thought if you knew how much I was feeling, how much it was turning me over and over, you’d maybe think I was worth looking at, just a bit. I knew I had no chance, but I’d stand there looking up. And listening.”

He felt her stiffen behind him and closed his eyes again, disgusted with the words popping out of his mouth.

“You’d be up there with him, your little tin soldier, and I’d hear you kiss, hear you say things to each other, hear his hands…” He cursed when his voice broke, telling himself to be a bloody man and get through it. “His hands on your skin. I’d hear you gasp while that great soddin’ arse would be pounding away at you, and I knew, I knew it was under the covers, no sense of direction, missionary style. I knew his idea of being considerate was limited to letting you come first. And then you’d make that little noise, the one I knew meant was your big payoff for the event, and I’d…” He slapped his hand against the glass, knowing she’d pull away from him now.

But even as she did pull away a bit, chilling his back, her warm hand covered his against the window.

“You’d what?”

He opened his eyes, for all he wasn’t seeing anything but the memories in his head. “I’d think about how, if I were up there, I’d make you scream, make you moan, make you feel more than you’d ever felt, turn you inside out with pleasure, have you dance against my tongue, my fingers, my hips. First time I ever saw you, you were dancing.” Arousal, the memory of it anyway, went through him. “I thought of how much better I could be.” He laughed. “I even thought about taking your little G.I. Joe to a few friends of mine, let them show him a few halfway decent moves just so he wouldn’t bore you so much. And God, Buffy. I could feel how much you were trying not to be bored.”

She didn’t move. He wasn’t sure she was breathing, and the shame came back in a hot rush.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I stood down there and listened to what was none of my business. If it makes you feel better about it, I’d wait till I got back to my crypt before I’d have a toss, though, I guess that doesn’t help because I might as well have been back here, dreaming of what you’d be like against the sheets and in the moonlight with me there, instead of him.”

She didn’t answer, and he found himself laughing again. “Couldn’t even blame the git when he stabbed me through the heart.”

“He what?”

Spike nodded, recalling it. “Used a plastic stake. Looked real. Honestly, what sadistic chav would make something like that? Thought I was a goner, but he’d just popped by to warn me off.”

“When was this, exactly?”

“After I took you to see him getting a suck job.” He turned back a few degrees then, looking at her, taking in her skin and eyes and hair in the starlight. Something was always shining when he looked at her, the way she lit up the world. “I really did think you should know about him and his nocturnal activities, you know, much as I also wanted you to leave the chuffer. And I enjoyed it, at first, showing it to you, looking at him all trying to be bad. But then, when you were so hurt, I just felt like a dribblin’ arsehole.”

To his surprise, she wrinkled her nose. “Sexy image there.”

“I’m not trying to be sexy right now, Slayer.”

She backed off a step, raising her hands. “I know, sorry.” She shook her head, shimmering in light some more. “I’m just having to rewrite some personal history here. He actually—thank God I missed that helicopter.”

Spike knew he was smiling again like a berk. “You mean that?”

She looked at him steadily, and he went weak. “Of course I do. And, well, yeah, it’s creepy that you used to stand outside my window like that, but you were learning, weren’t you?”

“Learning?”

“How to love me like a man instead of a creature of the night.” She smiled in her pink lip gloss way, and the stuffed animals stopped being so important. “I’m guessing Drusilla wouldn’t have minded the window thing.”

He shrugged over an old hurt. “She used to like me to watch, you know, when she brought men and women to her bed. Had me kill them for her afterwards, usually, while they still smelled like, uh…”

“OK, that is officially disgusting.”

He nodded, looking down at his boots. They’d gone almost white around the sole. Maybe he should dream up a new pair.

“But that was before,” she said. “With Dru.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, before I went to see a man about a—”

“No, before you loved me. Before you took what you felt and started to change.”

He went to his knees again before looking up at her. She made a sound of distress and pulled at him, but he shook his head. “Just let me. It’s a thing.” He reached up and put his arms around her trim waist, pressed his face into her tiny belly, felt her thin thighs against his chest, breathed in the heady, powerful scents of her, felt the might in her muscles and bones.

“A vampire thing?”

He nodded, rubbing his face against her worn t-shirt, and then he pushed the material aside and rubbed against her ridiculously soft skin instead, hearing the blood rushing inside her.

She rubbed that skin back against him, then slid down, her knees going to his sides, to end up with her tight little butt perched on his thighs, nudging the part of his body that presently gave a rat’s ass about the décor.

“So,” she whispered in his ear. “You thought about ways to make me scream?”

“God yes, luv.”

“What else did you think about?”

Spike thought that over a minute, not quite sure what he’d just heard. When he faced her full on, one eyebrow raised, she smiled at him somewhat wickedly.

“Slayer?”

“You heard me.”

“Ugh.” He felt his whole body shudder and shiver and tremble and quiver at the challenge in his Slayer’s eyes. It was perhaps the most visceral response he’d had to something that wasn’t viscera.

With a roar he stood with her and threw her on her girlish bed. He felt a vague pull for a smoke, but the Slayer lay before him to slake his addiction now. She gazed through her lashes, asking, “What else did you think about, William?”

His left hand snapped out and grabbed her right ankle. With a move, her shoe and sock were somewhere on the floor, and her bare foot was in his grip. He stared at it.

“What perfect little toes,” he murmured, then looked harder at the light pink sheen. “Cute polish.”

Buffy frowned, then gasped as the vampire took her foot and pressed it lewdly against the bulge in his black jeans. At first, she was obviously puzzled, then he went ahead and let it press back and forth a bit, and she smiled as filthy a smile as any vampire could ever want. Her left foot rose up, waving slightly.

With a growl, he grabbed that one next, stripped it, and let it join the first foot. She started curling her toes, and his eyes closed on a sigh.

“I get that, you know,” she said, voice low and sweet.

He just shook his head, concentrating on the idea of taking anything of the Slayer and pressing it between his legs. Anything he wanted. One day, if she let him, he’d wrap her golden hair around his cock and just stroke and stroke and stroke.

He opened his eyes and saw her, splayed out and unashamed, and damn near came against her little slayer feet.

“What else?” she asked, eyes open and daring him.

He growled, glad as hell the chip was out because he wouldn’t mind hurting her just a little bit for the pain he was feeling. He was going to explode, and he hadn’t even gotten the two of them naked yet.

And then, while he watched, her hands went to her t-shirt and pulled it off, a lacy nothing bra following. She cupped her own breasts, offering them up and sort of playing with them at the same time.

“What else?” she asked.

“What didn’t I think of?” he offered weakly, then shook it off. Slayer wanted to know about his depraved little moon-eyed self? He could oblige.

“I heard,” he said with a voice that could saw through wood, “his fumbling beefy hands on you, and then he was inside in, what, thirty seconds if you were lucky? Probably weren’t even wet first.”

“I got wet when he kissed me.”

He snarled. “Damp, maybe.” He lunged then, gnawing with blunt teeth at the inside of her left knee, delighting as her eyes flew wide. Yeah, he’d mapped that spot first time out, hadn’t he? He chewed, strong but keeping it gentle, and she made a noise a hell of a lot louder than she’d ever made with that white bread poof.

Then he dragged his lips back to her perfect little ankle, kissing and nipping. It was like he could feel it, really, the ageless power of her and yet the flesh-and-blood here in his hands, between his teeth. If she hadn’t been the Slayer, he would never have looked twice, but would that have been his idiocy? Forget everything else, the body he was allowed to touch was something goddesses envied. And that wasn’t even taking her ridiculous nose into consideration.

He dragged his lips and blunt teeth up her right leg too, then followed a muscled thigh further and further up, kissing her other thigh, wanting to kiss every sodding inch of her, wanting no part of her skin not to have been in his mouth. He opened his jaws, sucking in, and she tasted of chocolate and blood and coffee, and he was fighting not to come in his bloody pants again.

“What else?” a voice that only sort of sounded like her demanded.

There was that little bit of her, the very top of her thighs, of flesh and softness. With his nose buried in her wet (ha! soaking!) center, he closed his teeth down on a tiny little swell of flesh, and she bucked, striking up the bloody band now: breathing, gasping, saying his name, both Spike and William and whatever the hell else she wanted. What did he care, as long as she meant him?

“I wanted to nibble on you for hours,” he told her. “I thought about all the places it would never occur to that wanker.”

He flipped her over, reveling in the _ooof_ she made. “I thought about biting the little curve of your back here.” She actually whined as his blunt teeth sank in, making him twice as hard, which he wouldn’t have thought was possible. “And kissing up your backbone here.” She wriggled. “And biting on your shoulder here, just a nibble, nothing to draw blood.” She sighed, leaning back even as she reared up.

“I thought about, damn it.” He reached down and ripped off his pants, then his shirt. He thought there might have been a belt in there, but who cared? His boots registered for a moment, and then he just decided they didn’t matter. His skin was against hers, but not enough. A bit of business and she was naked. Her hot skin was there for his whole body to touch.

 _Skin and sin. Sin and skin._ Wasn’t a coincidence, that rhyme, was it?

“I thought about how no one should take you fast, no one should skip savoring you, tasting you on every millimeter of his tongue.” He started licking whatever was closest, flesh sparking against his mouth, a live wire. “I thought that no one should get to touch you without slaying something first, making the world safer, letting you rest a moment, before they got the chance.”

He was speaking against her core now, the scent of her running down to every muscle and joint he possessed. Obscenely, he licked her little pink pressure point, growling as she arched up against him.

“Dancing,” she moaned.

He closed his eyes, stilled his breath, held back against the surge her words offered.

“Buffy,” he whimpered, feasting and drowning.

“What else?” she asked, implacable.

“I can’t.”

“Want to know.” She arched up again. “Tell me.”

“I thought about just holding you, just kissing you for hours. I knew, I knew you didn’t love the tosser. I knew you were just pretending, wanting something normal and like other girls got, not…Oh, God…not like what a Slayer needs.”

She moaned just like he wanted.

“You thought you wanted normal. Maybe you still think it, Slayer. But what can a normal man offer you? A lifetime of holding back? Always having to be careful, always having to worry about his body, his ego, his need to be in control? And all the time I was offering you something better.”

She shocked him then, asking, “Is that why you kneel?”

He stilled completely, holding on, but it was too much. The idea that she could know that, could figure that out, of all things. He came against her thigh, splattering her and whiting out and feeling…well, at that moment feeling pretty much invincible and triumphant and just bloody fantastic.

It was only in the next moment or two that he felt disappointed, until her hot hands grabbed his ass.       

“What else?”

He sought to catch his breath.

“What else, Spike?”

With another growl, he caught her hips and raised her up before he buried his face between her legs, lapping up liquid even better than blood. Well, not slayer blood, but better than the regular stuff.

Buffy laughed, and it was incredibly carefree. God, when did his Slayer ever get to let her ya-yas out? He sought deeper, making sure his thumb was working her clit while he drank in the heat of her.

And then, before he expected it, she came against his face, her deep pink tissues rolling, her body tensed, her chest and throat growling. And even while catching her breath, she demanded, “What else?”

He slid up her sweat-slicked, delicious skin and plundered her mouth. God, her mouth was as hot and spicy as her pussy.

“Get in me, Spike,” she hissed, and he rolled his hips against her, feeling her ready for him.

“Not yet,” he muttered, though God knew why. “I haven’t even started with your tits.”

She moaned, actually complaining.

He sank down a bit, seeking those pert globes that called to men and vampires without really making much sense, and who cared, anyway? They were so firm and juicy. His mouth watered just looking at the pale mounds and the tiny pink nipples. Slayer nipples.

Groaning, he kissed the space between her breasts, unable to choose which delicacy he should target next. Some instinct drew him to her left breast first, seeking that bit of darker, puckered flesh that he knew from his own body housed a thousand little nerves.

He nibbled, then sucked, then nibbled, and she thrashed about in his arms. God, what was it about perky tits? He was as hard as ever, and he’d just come like some sort of schoolboy. The feel of that liquid weight spilling over against his mouth, the way the nerve clusters let him manipulate her pleasure, the smooth, simple outline of her breasts against her body: why did it all come together inside him?

“In me, William,” she whimpered.

Powerless to resist, like he would anyway, he slid up until the sensitive tip of his cock was right there. It didn’t matter that he’d been there before. His mind was halfway back under that damn tree, halfway right now. He really had wanted to kill that cardboard cutout of a lover not just because he was in Buffy’s arms, but also because he was doing such a piss-poor job of it.

His Slayer deserved ecstasy every time she opened her legs. The idea that his Warrior would offer herself up and not get anything less than Valhalla every single time was plain insulting to men everywhere. His Buffy should crook her finger and come a dozen times before breakfast.

So he played her clit as he slid inside, and the heat of her, the strength and pressure and fire of her body almost made him spew again—bloody toss-pot that he was for not being better for her.

He bit down on his lower lip, which spurted blood he didn’t even care about. He felt every millimeter of her as he pushed in deep, back, and in again, heat and then more heat, tight and then tighter.

“Does this feel good, Buffy?” he realized he was asking. “Do I feel good?”

She performed a sort of full-body moan, clamping down.

“I’ll bring you anything, anyone. Do you want Angelus here?” Oh God, he couldn’t believe he’d said that, and he was more than a little aware there were tears on his cheeks. “Do you want Captain Whatever? Do you want…tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen. I’ll bring the world to you, Slayer. Give me the word.”

“I want you,” she said, looking down at him with a world of love in her eyes. “I only want you.”

“You have me,” he said, feeling how little it was.

She growled then, rolling them over and then riding him, the way she had that night he’d thought was something more than it had been, but now it was better, her eyes not just looking at him, but seeing into him.

“I want you, William. I want all of you and nothing else.” She bore down, and he for seconds on end was seriously just a length of flesh inside her. “I want all of you.”

“You, you have it, Slayer.”

“Say my name.”

It was actually difficult. How did she know that?

“Buffy.”

“Again!”

“Buffy!”

“Again!”

“Buffy Anne Summers.” He thrust up with every syllable, knowing her middle name from the unnumbered times he’d gone to stand in front of her grave. “Buffy Anne…oh, God.”

She pulled him from himself, made him pure and noble inside her because he was bringing her pleasure. Anything that was good for her was good for the whole wide world.

And then she fell on top of him, boneless and happy, and her caught her like the grand prize she was.

And then he curled around her, and she was more than everything. She was what everything wanted to be.

 

**THE WHELP**

Xander didn’t know what the hell he had been expecting. He hadn’t even been sure Willow and the others would allow this. All he knew for sure was that he loved Buffy and, if she let him, he really needed to understand why she’d spent the last few days running to the couch and falling asleep like she’d won the lottery.

After all, he’d loved Anya, but when she was dead, he had been able to go on, able to recognize that her end had been a good one. And she hadn’t even closed a hellmouth. What was Spike doing still hanging around?

He shook himself a little, for once angry at his own flippancy. He remembered Spike’s half-severed fingers from grabbing that sword, saving Buffy’s life and then acting like it was nothing. He so didn’t like the guy, but the vamp’s sincerity in self-sacrifice couldn’t be plainer. It made sense that Mr. Obsess-o would do anything to be with Buffy, however he could.

What didn’t make sense was that Buffy was going along with it. He knew she cared about the guy, but really? Being sympathetic seriously did not explain her behavior. Neither did gratitude.

Of course, he was, just maybe, being an idiot. Buffy had loved one vamp with a soul, but Xander hadn’t known that would start a pattern. Of course, between the two of them, Xander couldn’t help noticing that while Spike without a soul was creepy stalker guy, Angel without a soul was torture everyone to death and destroy the world guy.

He’d had a talk with Willow before she did the spell to send him into Buffy’s dream, and they’d had a solid moment of understanding about how the slayer had kept Spike in her back pocket, as though somehow she’d known he was a key to defeating the First and didn’t want him—what? Getting distracted? The vamp had been as loyal as a pit bull those last days (which had been, actually, just a few days ago but felt like another world). The rest of them might have well not have existed, as far as the bleached wonder was concerned, and Buffy had obviously liked…no, Buffy had obviously needed that.

So was he giving her something she needed now?

Standing there a few days ago, looking at the crater that used to be Sunnydale, Xander had been more than a little awed at the power that amulet and Spike had used to close the hellmouth. Later, in one of her reports to Giles about the fight, Buffy had mentioned Spike had told her he could feel his soul when the amulet was funneling the sunlight into the hellmouth, so it was possible the bauble was using it as a sort of battery, like Giles had said, which meant the guy really did have a soul, whatever that meant.

Xander found himself shaking that thought off too. He wasn’t here to be all judge and jury guy. If Buffy wanted Spike, of course he had nothing to say about it. He just wanted to understand.

After all, he was being asked to help. Giles and the Buffster had explained she was going to need support from them to figure out her new life. On the one hand, she was now the de facto leader of an army of slayers, but on the other she was a woman who had both an enormous ability and a need to love. She’d explained that Spike gave her strength, which was awesome for the world save-age. If the vamp in her dreams made her happy, he was happy for her.

But seriously. _Spike_?

He snorted and looked around. For a dream, this was pretty boring. He was back in some old makeshift, onsite office in some trailer. A drafting table held the designs for some building he didn’t recognize, and there were papers and tools on a desk along with a black swivel chair with a rip up the back. There was the half-naked girl calendar on the wall, the dark fake paneling, and the indestructible carpet. It smelled like stale coffee, and he recognized his new hard hat hanging on a wall, the one with his name printed on it instead of on a piece of masking tape.

He stepped over to a window and looked out at a construction site. Whatever he was building had just gotten started. There were some materials, and the fence and portable johns were in place, but the ground hadn’t been fully leveled yet.

When he spotted two figures standing near a small compactor, he stepped back, located the door, and walked down into the perfect California sunshine, bright and clear.

“Sorry, Xan!” Buffy called, gesturing toward the figure standing near her with his arms up and his hands spread, face tilted back to the sky. A black duster lay in a heap at his feet.

He walked toward them, fighting a grin when the vampire didn’t move a muscle.

Buffy met Xander’s gaze before rolling her eyes. “I can’t get him to stop.”

“Sorry luv,” Spike said, eyes still closed as he basked. “Can’t help it.”

“You got to be in the sun when you had that Gem of Angora,” Buffy said, her eyes mischievous.

“I know you know its real name, pet. Besides, was too busy thinking about killing you then to appreciate it, wasn’t I?”

Evidently deciding to ignore the vampire for the moment, Buffy walked a few steps toward Xander, who came to a stop, fidgeting slightly.

“So what are you building?” she asked, nodding back toward the piles of I-beams. “Looks major.”

“I don’t know. I looked at the plans, but I don’t recognize them. Hey, maybe the Cheese Guy will show up and fill me in.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause he’s never with the cryptic.”

“True.”

“Should I ask about the Cheese Guy?” Spike asked, turning around to bake his back.

“Later, honey.” She frowned at her friend. “So you have the whole world to dream up, and you take us to a construction site?”

“A man’s turf is his castle.” Saying it, Xander realized being here did make him comfortable. It was at a place like this where he realized he’d finally found a career instead of just another job, even if his first construction gig had led to a case of mystic syphilis.

“No, Spike.” Buffy shot a look over at the vampire, who had frozen in the removal of his shirt, arms crossed over his chest.

And damned if Mr. Scourge of Europe didn’t pout, eyes still closed. “But it’s so warm.”

“No naked when other people are around, we agreed.”

“Boy’s seen me without my shirt before,” Spike grumbled, though he left the garment in place as he raised his hands back up to the light.

“Not a happy fun time memory,” Xander said, wanting to cover his eyes at the mental image of the pale vamp wrapped in a sheet.

But then the penny finally dropped. Spike hadn’t been alone in that bed that day, had he? Buffy was there, being invisible. Spike hadn’t been doing push-ups. He’d been doing…

_So not thinking about that._

Waiting to feel ill, he found he was laughing. In terms of everything else going on at the time, it was just so ridiculous.

Buffy looked at him with pursed lips, letting him know she knew just where his thoughts had gone. Jeeze. Even in dreams she could make him feel inappropriate. And she had been the invisible one. He’d just been the clueless guy looking for her. Another day in the life of Alexander the Not in the Loop.

He laughed again. To think he’d told the bloodsucker he needed to get a girlfriend.

“Xander,” Buffy warned, obviously aware of his thoughts. Then she scrunched up a bit and snickered. And then the two of them were laughing outright. He shot a look over at Spike, but the guy was still standing there like a sun worshipping statue. With luck, a pigeon would come by.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he said when he’d sobered up a bit, happy in the way Buffy was just giggling. “Andrew wanted to know—”

“No,” Buffy and Spike said together.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll let him know.”

“Yeah.” Spike finally dropped his arms and opened his eyes. “You do that, and the same with any of the others. Except…” He shrugged. “If she wants. Little bit’s choice.”

“Dawn’s been wanting to visit since Willow,” Buffy said.

“Then what’s stopping her?” Spike jerked a thumb at Xander as he walked over to join them. “Certainly she should have gotten a turn before Bob the Builder, here.”

“I refuse to be insulted by that reference because I didn’t get it. Giles wanted to make sure it was safe.”

“Safe?”

“Willow and Giles both understand the way the spell works,” Buffy explained, absently reaching out to trace a line down Spike’s arm. “There was concern that not being of the magics would make trouble.”

Spike frowned at him. “What’s protecting you, then?”

Xander shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just testing the waters.”

“Oh.” The vamp looked uncomfortable. “Uh, thanks.”

“Welcome.”

“You feelin’ anything off, then?”

He looked around. The sun was warm. He tasted freshly turned earth on his tongue.

“It’s weird not to know what I’m building,” he said. “But for a dream, that’s pretty much nothing.” He turned in a circle, confirming what Giles and Willow had said. If he didn’t know this was a dream, he’d think it was real. Whatever was drawing Buffy back here every sleeping second wasn’t some sort of hazy euphoria, like being drunk or something.

“You know,” he said as he turned back to them. “This is a whole new spin on the long-distance relationship thing.”

Buffy laughed while Spike looked rueful and pulled out a cigarette.

“Hey, watch out. Got acetylene tanks over there.”

Spike threw him a look before lighting up. When Xander frowned at him, the vamp shrugged and told him, “You’re the one dreamed up this place. I’m all for going someplace a bit more exciting.”

“Yeah. Hey, Willow got the Russian ball thing, right? You got something in store for a weary guy who’s been watching after teenaged girls all day?”

“Yeah, but I doubt Buffy would like to see it.”

Her eyes went big, then squinty. “That’s a big you-got-that-right.”

“Hey! I just meant, I’m willing to try out this whole dream on demand thing.”

“Really?” Buffy asked, a little too innocently.

Xander was about to make a crack about being the opposite of really when he managed to tell himself not to be a fool.

“Really,” he said.

“Don’t fight the shift,” she reminded him, and then things went a little blurry and gray for a bit, which wasn’t too unpleasant.

His first action when his eye could focus again was to cringe. He was standing on what looked like an alien planet (red sky, moon-like crater ground) and dressed in a skin-tight green outfit. With the slight movement, he felt something on his back that proved to be dark blue wings.

“Hey, I’m J'onn J'onzz!” he exclaimed. “Only the coolest ever!” He flapped his wings and let out a joyous shout when he took to the air. It took a few minutes to figure out just how this body worked, but soon he was whipping and zipping all over a crazy landscape, vaguely aware he was supposed to meet up with someone.

“Manhunter!” a deep voice called, and he turned in midair to see Superman (looking a little like Angel, but with actually less forehead) hovering nearby. “The Justice League is uniting!”

For the next few hours, the Martian Manhunter and the League took care of a score of super villains (and a Cordelia-like Wonder Woman was so not something he was going to forget) until they all fought their way inside the lair of the Evil Slayer and her Consort (Spike and Buffy doing a little more lip-on-lip than he wanted to see again soon) to save the world.

“Ha!” J'onn J'onzz shouted, slapping an Oz-like Aquaman on the back. “Drinks are on me, guys!”

 

**THE WARD**

Dawn felt herself going into sleep, which was kind of weird. She’d learned in class that the body fell asleep from the toes to the head, then woke up from the head to the toes, but it all happened so fast you didn’t notice it. This time, she did.

She’d pretty much hung on every word the others had reported about visiting Buffy’s dreams: Willow’s Tsarist ball, Giles’ walk through all of Sunnydale in the nighttime—the streets so perfect to every last detail that it proved there was more at work than just Buffy and Spike’s imagination—and Xander’s superhero stint of saving the world—the last of which had Andrew pouting in almost obscene jealousy.

But while all of that had been fun, Dawn wasn’t looking for something like that herself. She just wanted to see Spike.

As much as she had sometimes hated being the little sister of the slayer, she had loved being Spike’s sort-of adopted little sister. He had been there for her when absolutely no one else had. He’d stopped her from doing that spell to raise her mother back from the dead, and then even helped her with that better spell, getting bitten by a huge demon for his trouble.  He’d told her grown-up stories when everyone else was treating her like a kid. He’d protected her from those demon biker guys and from Glory—totally not his fault Doc had stabbed him and thrown him off the tower. God, the look he’d given her, how sorry he’d been before he’d fallen.

And then Spike had been there when Buffy died and when she’d come back. She still didn’t understand his attempt to rape her, but, come on, the guy’d gone and gotten a soul to say he was sorry. Besides, Buffy forgave him, so that was that.

It had hurt her when everyone on the bus was talking about Spike like he’d just been another weapon they’d used against the First, like it didn’t matter that one the few people in her life was gone. She’d even been glad, in a mean way, she admitted to herself, when Buffy started crying on the bus, though that had gone away quickly and she’d felt nothing but concern when her sister’s tears didn’t stop.

And now, like with her sister, he was back! Not completely back, but really close. It had been almost a week now since the hellmouth collapsed, and Buffy was doing great. Dawn had figured out a while ago that the rest of group took their cue from her moods, depressed when she was down and determined to save the world when she got that tough look on her face. Now Buffy was making plans and being there for everyone like it was the easiest thing in the world. Everyone was doing better because Spike was making Buffy better. And how incredibly cool was that?

And now, finally, it was her turn. Xander had said it was good, Giles had given his blessing, Willow had done her mojo, and Buffy had hugged her and told her they were going to have fun.

Dawn couldn’t remember the last time she’d really had fun.

“Hey, I recognize this,” her sister said, standing in front of her with a dark brown, off-the-shoulders top and a ceramic rose on a ribbon tied around her neck. Her hair was short and lightly streaked. They were in the living room, which was all decorated with birthday stuff.

And there he was, absolutely perfect in black pants, blank boots and shirt, and that cool black leather jacket. Oh, and he had a black eye too, natch.

“Niblit,” he said, his smile openly gentle.

With a squeal, she threw herself into his arms, smelling leather and stinky cigarettes. He caught her and picked her up off the floor just a bit, and he was real and solid and laughing.

“Spike!”

“Good to see you too, pet.”

She let him put her down, then stepped back just enough to see him well. “So it’s true? You’re really here?”

“In the virtual.”

She thumped his chest with a grin. “Seem solid enough to me.”

“Why this place and time, pumpkin?” Spike looked around with some distaste. “We were fighting a vicious beastie and trapped in here by that crazy Cec—er, vengeance demon.”

“This is earlier, before we knew all that. We were just…” She couldn’t help looking around wistfully. For all that she hadn’t purposefully come here, it was a great memory. “Everyone just stayed. We all wanted to be together. And it was fun. And there were presents.”

“One present still had the security tag on it,” Buffy said, of course.

“Look, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry about that?”

Buffy held up her hands, backing away a step, then looked at Spike with a shrug. “It was actually fun, before the carnage.”

“The story of our lives, Slayer.”

“We played Monopoly for hours, and there was dancing, and we all stayed up all night.” She hugged herself, and suddenly felt two people grab her from either side, circling her in a hug, while Buffy kissed her face about twenty times, missing sometimes as she thrashed about and kissing her eye or ear or hair.

“Ack! Ew! Enough!” She squirmed harder, but they didn’t let her go, which felt ridiculously nice.

“Taught you about the dangers of making wishes in front of strangers,” Spike growled, pushing his chest forward and almost smothering her against Buffy’s deeply laughing body.

“I promise! I learned!”

With a last kiss on her cheek, Buffy let go, then stroked her hair. Spike smirked and looked around the room again.

“Not so crowded now.”

“I know.” Dawn nodded, acknowledging this was a long-gone memory. “I just liked it.”

“Well, three people is small for this kind of party,” Buffy said, “but not for a night in!” With that, she whirled around and headed for the kitchen.

Spike frowned, then raised his eyebrows and followed Buffy with a grin.

In the kitchen, Buffy was opening the oven and taking out a sheet of spicy hot wings. Spike strode over to the cupboard and pulled out two shot glasses and a bottle she recognized as Jack Daniels.

“Sparkling cider for you in the ‘fridge, pet.”

“Yum!” She opened up an ice box full of food and drink. “Is that cheesecake?”

“For dessert,” Buffy said, distributing the wings over three plates. “Take these into the dining room, please.”

Dawn complied with a nod, delighted to find more food, including chili cheese fries and garlic bread, on the table. Buffy followed behind her with a bowl of steaming garlic mashed potatoes and laughed.

“Another onion blossom, Spike?”

“They’re good,” he said, bringing in a plate of what looked like an upside down quiche.

“What’s that?” Dawn asked.

“Gift of the gods.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I smell veggies.”

“If you’re too good for bubble and squeak you can eat in the kitchen.”

She laughed. “No way is it called that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t know food of the gods if it tossed a thunderbolt at your backside.”

They got themselves settled together at one end of the table, then filled their plates.

“Wait,” Dawn said, looking at her sister. “Where’s blood for Spike?”

The vampire shook his head.  “It’s a dream, luv. No need to bother with that now.”

Pressing her lips together, she put down her knife and fork and stood from the table before stalking into the kitchen straight to the microwave. Nodding at the warm mug she found inside, she walked it back to the dining room and put it next to Spike’s plate before sitting down with an imperious look at her thoughtless sister.

Who smiled back at her with loving approval, totally ruining it.

Spike gave her a grin, then his nose twitched. He lifted up the mug, smelled it, and took a sip.

“How do you know about otter blood, bit?”

She giggled. “It was in a watcher’s journal. They bribed some vampire with it.”

“Otter blood?” Buffy asked.

“Best thing, next to human, and without the ethical dilemma.” Spike smirked and held the mug toward her. “Wanna taste?”

“Not sure there’s a big enough no for that one.”

“Your loss, luv.” He drained the mug with overt pleasure, then set it down and frowned at Dawn.

“I thought the watcher’s journals were all lost in that explosion.”

“It’s Willow,” Dawn said, tentatively taking a bite of the bubble and squeak and deciding it wasn’t bad for something that had so much green in it. “She’s been pulling the books out of this time-pocket thing, thinks she can maybe get the whole library back eventually.”

To her delight, Spike didn’t look at Buffy when he asked, “And that doesn’t mess with some sort of dimensional law?”

“Giles and Willow say the trick is to pull them out a split-second before the bomb goes off, which means some of them have been popping up a little singed. But books are just things. At least, these are. They’re not magic books, just histories and journals and things like that.”

“Smart.” He looked around at the laden table, then smiled when Buffy passed him the Tabasco sauce. “So what else is up, Platelet? Buffy hasn’t been filling me up with the news lately.”

“I doubt you and Buffy have been doing much talking at all,” Dawn snickered, earning disapproval from his sister and a smirk from her… “Hey, what do I call you, anyway?”

“Something wrong with ‘Spike’?”

“No, I mean. Are you her boyfriend now? Her partner? Her mate?”

 Something flickered in Spike’s eyes at the last term, but he was shaking his head a second later. “I’m kinda partial to consort.”

“You realize she’s going to tell absolutely everyone that, right?” Buffy demanded.

Being a dream did nothing to dull the vampire’s smug look, Dawn noticed. “That right?” he asked.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Andrew will probably post it to the website.”

“What website?” Spike looked at her. “Spill, bit.”

Gathering up her thoughts, and thinking her sister probably hadn’t told him half of what he needed to know, she started with the trip on the bus, explaining the treatment of the wounded and the assessment that with a little help from Willow they could wait the four hours it was going to take to reach Phoenix.

“Giles had already told Daniel to expect us. I mean, he planned it as a retreat if we made it, which was smart. Giles is good at things like that. And when we got there, there were a couple of potentials, I mean, new slayers there waiting for us.” She looked down at her plate, realizing she’d eaten quite a lot of food and enjoyed it, even the British thing, but she wasn’t full. Dreams were cool. Maybe she could get the whole cheesecake to herself.

“Watch it, bit,” Spike said. When she looked up, he shook his head. “You won’t get full, but you can still get tired of things.”

“OK.” She took a sip of cider, snorting a little at the bubbles. “So far, we’ve had thirteen new girls show up and five watchers. They’re all just treating Giles as the head of the new council, and Buffy’s still leading the poten—other slayers.”

“Faith making trouble?”

She shook her head. “I think having completely dropped the ball the only time she was in charge has made her rethink the whole idea of wanting to be the leader.”

“She didn’t drop the ball,” Buffy objected, though Dawn thought she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about it. “She made a good decision based on what information she had at the time.”

“And walked right into a trap! And we just…” The teen slumped, feeling the guilt come again.

“Dawn.” Her sister took her hand, looking at her in that sincere way that meant she was actually being sincere. “We made it. We got out of there together. I’m not interested in regretting anything that happened before then, all right?”

She nodded, getting a grip on herself. “So, Faith’s towing the line now, I mean, as much as Faith can, and she’s been looking after Principal Wood. I think she’s going to start training some of the new slayers too.”

Spike nodded, pouring himself some whiskey and shooting it back in one go. Buffy looked at her own full shot glass with a little frown.

“Oh, and so then, after the watchers talked, they asked Willow if she could help with the books, and she’s been bringing them back one at a time.”

“Don’t they have thousands of books?”

“Yeah, but they say they want to be careful. I guess some books are more dangerous than others.” Dawn took a bite of potatoes. You could never get tired of garlic mashed potatoes. “I’ve been reading the ones in English, which almost all of the watcher journals are. I had no idea how much was involved with the whole watcher thing. Giles made it look so easy. You have to learn martial arts and history and magic, all kinds of things. And now, of course, they need watchers like crazy.”

“You thinking about it as a career, Niblet?”

Dawn shrugged. “Maybe, but there’s so many things I could be. I certainly like the part I’m doing now, helping out and stuff.”

“That include the website?”

“Some, but just the writing part. Andrew is totally Mr. Territory over the design and stuff.”

“So the whole world is going to know about slayers now?”

Dawn looked at Buffy, who shrugged, still looking at her glass.

“It’s not gonna bite you, Slayer.”

“I think you said something like that last time, and I ended up punching a wussy demon.”

Spike shrugged, smiling at a fond memory.

Buffy shot it back, stuck out her tongue with a “blehah,” and shuddered. Dawn laughed so hard it hurt.

“The watchers seem to think the rest of the world will settle back down into denial-land, like in Sunnydale,” Buffy said, still shivering a bit. “As Willow pointed out, there’s been all this information for years on the Internet anyone can read. Hasn’t changed things.”

“The lady watcher, Jahida, says she thinks in a couple years slayer girls will be diagnosed as having some sort of medical disorder that makes them strong and stuff, you know, to explain it. But that should help the council reach them and tell them what’s really going on.”

“It’s still going to be a mess,” Buffy sighed. “There are so many more out there than I thought there would be.”

“Feeling guilty, Slayer?”

She looked at him.

“Think it would have been better to let the First win?”

“No.” Buffy shrugged. “Just, I didn’t realize, when I asked Willow to do that spell.”

“The world changes, Buffy. You made it change for the better, but you know there’s always a cost.”

“And I’m always making other girls pay it.”

“Ah, none of that, luv.”

Mouth full of food, Dawn watched him reach out and trail a fingertip down her sister’s face and made sure she didn’t sigh, or move, or anything.

“You’re The One, remember? And you’ve given your life twice for this world. Any girl out there who suddenly realizes she can bench press a small car will feel the pull, but she still has free will. Anyone who chooses to fight alongside you does it because they know it’s privilege. And you’re their leader, not God. It’s their lives to lay on the line. And don’t forget, I know just what I’m talking about.”

A tear slipped down Buffy’s cheek that Spike wiped gently away with his thumb, which she kissed. “I’ll never forget.”

“Chew your food, Niblet, before you choke.”

Dawn nodded and made her jaw move up and down. God, no wonder Buffy like to keep that all to herself.

“Can we have the cheesecake now?”

“I’ll get it.” Buffy stood up. “But I insist we talk of happier things. No more crying at the family table of the Chosen One.”

Dawn smiled, catching Spike’s eye, at her choice of words.

“So like, now that we’re in a dream, can I ask you all those questions I’ve been wanting to ask?”

He shrugged, watching as Buffy returned with dessert. “Sure, pet.” He poured himself another shot. “Can’t promise I’ll answer ‘em.”

“Fair enough.” She took her plate of cake, smiling at the large portion. Calorie-free food. How cool was that? “So why did you stop writing poetry?”

He looked at her a long minute. “Next question.”

“Yeah, figured. Uh, how did that amulet work?”

“You are a little watcher-in-training, aren’t you?”

“Well, it totally killed, what, hundreds of those ubervamps and leveled my town. Forgive me for being curious.”

“Not sure how much I can explain, bit. The amulet punched a hole in the roof, and I was standing in the sunlight, but it didn’t burn me. Went through the amulet, got my soul involved somehow, and then it shot out the sun’s rays like an energy beam—beams. Took ‘em all out. And then Buffy left, and it all collapsed.”

“And that’s when, uh, you died?”

He poured himself another shot, looked over at Buffy while he tipped the bottle, and smirked at the way she shook her head. “That’s right.”

“Do you remember it?”

“Dawn.”

“It’s all right, Slayer. Yeah, I remember it. Hurt, but I had to laugh. Never felt it so much before, you know? Power and knowing I was doing the right thing.”

“And then you woke up in the nothing room?”

“Heard about that, did you?” Spike downed his shot, smiling a little grimly.

“And you chose to be with Buffy for your eternal reward.”

“Sums it up.”

Dawn put her fork down and rested her chin on her hands. “That’s just so…I need to go to school more so I can say what that is.”

“It’s just love, Niblet. One day—”

“One day I’ll what? Meet some master vampire who decides to reclaim his soul to be worthy of me?”

Buffy straightened in her chair. “No vampires ever, Dawnie. I so much as catch one sniffing around you, soul or no soul, he’s dust.”

“You saying I wouldn’t be good enough for your little sis?”

She stood up, taking plates. “I’m saying there is one and only one of you, and you’re mine, so she is just going to have to deal.” With a hair flounce, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Dawn looked to her sister’s consort for support, only to find him wearing totally goofy eyes.

She sighed. “That’s so not fair.”

Spike cocked his head to the side, frowning. “I’m not sure I ever played Monopoly before. How’s it go?”

Dawn squealed and went to get the box.

 

Considering there was neither Niblet nor the boy around, Spike hadn’t stopped at just his shirt. Naked as the day he was born—the first time—he’d stretched out on a long, warm rock in the bright sun, a waterfall nearby making the air a little misty, and baked like a lizard.

“I think I’m jealous of the sun,” a beloved voice called from his left.

He laughed, not opening his warm eyes. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Dru.”

“Dru?” The voice turned decidedly chilly.

“When she told me we were over, she said I was lost to sunshine. She meant you.”

“You said Dru broke up with you over a chaos demon.”

“No. I said I found her with a chaos demon.” He shuddered. All that slime. “She broke up with me because she said she saw the Slayer when she looked at me and that my blood tasted like ashes.” Oh dear, that actually still hurt a bit. He shook it off. “She said I needed to go to you, that I was already yours.”

He stretched, and muscles he didn’t know he had loosened. “I denied it, of course. But the point is, me in the sunshine, that’s just me enjoying you.”

“I see.” At the wry tone, he pried open one eye. She was standing there on the rocks dressed in one of those soft numbers, white and pink and brown, with a flowing skirt and her hair ablaze in the sun’s rays. His dick, already hard in the heat, stiffened further, curling up toward his stomach. She really should come with a surgeon general’s warning.

She took a couple steps closer to him, her shiny pink lips curving in a smile that made it hard to pretend to breathe.

“You were perfect with Dawn,” she said.

“We both did well with her.”

She shook her head softly. A little blond curl caught in the breeze and whipped around her neck, like a garnish. “I never thought how that night must have been for her. I thought about what Anya’s demon buddy said, of course, tried to be there for her more, but I didn’t think about the early part of the party, how happy she looked.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, luv. You were saving the world. You gave her what time you could.”

“Thank you for saying she can visit anytime.”

He shrugged, though making the effort was difficult considering where most of his blood currently resided. “Meant it, though I’m seriously hoping she doesn’t pop up right now.”

Buffy smiled again, a little more evil to it than last time, and he had to stifle a groan. She walked up to his side, little tan boots finding solid purchase on the stone, then abruptly straddled him, legs coming down straight on either side of his torso as she looked down. The wind stirred up her aromas, and he got even harder.

“So, lying in the sun’s getting you all hot?”

“Sun’s making me warm. You get me hot.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Think maybe I can get part of you hotter?” And then in one graceful, perfect slide, her knees bent and her skirt billowed out, and then she was taking him inside one slow inch at a time while he lay there, speechless and drunk on the whole bloody thing.

When she stopped, resting against his hips, he put everything he had into it and managed to groan her name.

“Slayer.”

“Yes?”

He reached for her, but she leaned back, smiling, and he let his heavy arms fall as she started to lift up and press down.

“I love you, William.”

He made a noise then, which, in any other circumstance, would have mortified him, a sort of sob-whimper, while he was unable to do anything but just lie still and be there with her.

“Hm, not even making with the words now. I think I like this.” She sped up just a tad, squeezed him just a little harder. “I think I’m going to do this a lot.”

OK, he’d made just a plain ole whimper this time. Thank God no one else was around to hear.

Buffy hummed in pleasure, rippled around his flesh, and tilted her head back up to the sun, eyes closed. He wanted to tell her how she was making him feel, how he always felt just thinking about her, but apart from his tackle he was pretty much just a sack of vampire goo, and there was no way he was inflicting his attempts at poetry on something so absolutely, completely perfect.

Afterwards, when they were both sweaty and spent, they curled up together on the warm granite and just listened to the waterfall and the birds and insects and things. He couldn’t help thinking he’d burn to a crisp in a hellmouth a thousand times over to have this and still call the bargain cheap.

It was all so overwhelming, in fact, that he let himself take a bit longer in the nothing room to recover. This much happiness all the time was seriously messing with his big bad, and he knew Buffy wouldn’t appreciate him much without his edge. Hadn’t she made him feel like dirt about that once before? In front of everyone, no less, talking about how his soul had made him weak.

Well, he wasn’t going there again. And if he saw Buffy right this second he’d be on his knees in about two seconds, probably—what had she called it?—weepy and getting whaled on.

So he smoked a few, mulling over his sins until his nerves settled. Heaven or not, this thing with Buffy wasn’t going to last forever, even if it were somehow supposed to be eternal. He’d end up throwing some monkey wrench into the works. He’d done this from the beginning. Wasn’t likely to change now,  no matter how hard he tried.

He got back on his feet, took stock, and walked forward into a tasteful Santa Fe-style dining room. Buffy, Willow, Giles, Xander, and Dawn were all sitting around a long, solid oak table filled with books, some of which looked a little crispy around the edges. Everybody had water or tea or whatever, and there was a mug smelling of otter blood on the table to Buffy’s right and in front of an empty chair.

“Hey, Spike,” Buffy said, smiling.

“What’s all this?”

“We need to decide how to move forward,” Giles said, and it was obviously Giles, which he didn’t think worked that way.

“Red? You wanna explain?”

Will smiled at him, then shrugged. “Turns out, since we’ve all been here, we can be here together.” Her smile went away, and a cloud of uncertainty drifted in front of the shining power in her eyes. “If that’s OK?”

He shrugged and took his seat. “Long as Buffy’s happy.”

“We’ve been gathering intel,” the Slayer said, “trying to make sure we make the most of what resources are lacking and don’t waste anything we have a lot of.”

“Like baby slayers, I presume?”

She nodded. “We don’t want to just throw them around. They need training, and we want to put them where they can do the most good. And I figured, since we can, we might as well get everybody together while we talk about it. Save us having to repeat things.”

Realizing she still wasn’t sure he was OK with the little Scooby meeting, he tapped the back of her hand, drawing up her eyes.

“Happy to be of help, luv. You know that.”

“Great!” Dawn said brightly.

“There is some urgency,” Giles said, looking down at the notes he had on a pad of paper. “In the eight days since the hellmouth closed, word about the new slayer population has created a lot of unrest in the demon world. We’ve had reports of new alliances, new territories being drawn.”

“We need to make a show of strength without setting off World War III,” Buffy said. “Something that says, ‘We’re strong and ready,’ but not, ‘Hey, better kill us all now before we wipe you off the face of the earth.”

“Tall order, luv.” He knew he should look around the table now, indicate he was committed to the cause, and he was, but considering he still didn’t trust them from the last time they decided to betray his Slayer, he kept his eyes where he wanted them instead.

She caught his look and smiled, and so he smiled back.

“Sounds like fun.”

 

END

 


End file.
